


C6H8O6

by thimble



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-09
Updated: 2013-08-09
Packaged: 2017-12-22 23:33:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/919338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thimble/pseuds/thimble
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carlos drops by the station to deliver some cold remedies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	C6H8O6

**Author's Note:**

> Flashfic for Ito, who prompted me with 'oranges.' I don't even write fluff what's happening

* * *

"Carlos! What a lovely surprise!" Cecil exclaimed before Carlos had even stepped both feet inside the booth. The combined affection and embarrassment Carlos felt at Cecil's perpetual enthusiasm at announcing his presence used to make him wince, but he'd gotten used to it. Mostly.

"Are we still on air?" he whispered, motioning to his ear. Cecil's brows shot up almost comically, fumbling to hurriedly placate his audience with an impromptu weather announcement. He turned back to Carlos, grinning, despite the reddened nose and leaky eyes. Crumpled tissues that hadn't quite made it to the bin carpeted the floor and most of his desk.

"Not anymore!"

"All right, good. So, uh... hi."

"Hi," Cecil replied, patient and happy as he pushed the headphones from his ears, tilted the mic away. The sheer adoration on his face was enough to make a rush of blood surge through Carlos's own.

"You said... I heard... you had a cold. On the radio."

"Uh-huh."

"I brought you soup." He raised up the thermos he'd been carrying. "It's chicken... from the can. You've seen how bad I am at cooking..."

Cecil nodded sympathetically. "And eating too."

"And eating," Carlos added, recalling the time a certain restaurant dish grew teeth and began to bite him back. Afterwards, Cecil had told him how proud he was of him for defeating it; apparently only forty-five percent of the restaurant's patrons manage to.

Anyway.

"You can eat it, and feel better." He put it on the desk, sweeping away some of the crumpled tissues. "It's, uh, home remedy. Very effective. My ma used to make it for me."

"Is it more effective than playing hopscotch with ghosts?"

"I don't know yet. I'll run tests."

That answer always seemed enough for Cecil, who proceeded to open the thermos after a perfunctory blowing of his nose. Carlos reached into the pocket of his lab coat.

"I got you an orange too. For the Vitamin C..."

"Wait, did you say you brought an _orange_?"

"Here it is..."

"But Carlos!" Cecil tutted in his garbled runny nose voice. "We all know oranges aren't real."

"Sure," Carlos said, used to these random denials as well, and took the spoon from Cecil's distracted hand. He was going to spoonfeed him if he had to. "And what else isn't real?"

"Snow," Cecil answered immediately. "Mountains. Pillowcases. The moon. the letter 'E.' Love."

Carlos blinked, nearly spilling the hot contents of the thermos on himself. "Love? Love isn't real?"

"Of yes. But of course, it's common knowledge that the most powerful forces in the world are ~~invisible~~ not real." Cecil said, smiling in that all-knowing way of his, then promptly opened his mouth for a taste of soup.


End file.
